The Saddest Girl in the World by Cathy Glass

had done and showed no remorse.
    ‘Cathy,’ Edna said, ‘I asked the boys separately if they hadn't thought what they were doing was wrong, and that it hurt Donna, and do you know what they said? That because Donna was so stupid she wouldn't feel it!’
    ‘She's not stupid,’ I erupted. ‘And she certainly felt it, although she probably didn't ever say so. And Edna, do you know what the poor girl had to eat when there was money for food? The stuff no one else wanted!’ I told her about the coleslaw and the shopping, although I didn't point out that the coleslaw had been at Edna's suggestion. ‘I persuaded her to have an ice cream today,’ I said. ‘It was only the second one she'd ever had in her life. The first one you bought her when you visited us. She's ten years old and living in an affluent society, for goodness sake! And I know not having ice cream doesn't amount to child abuse, but it is indicative of the miserable, deprived existence she led. I expect the boys enjoyed an ice cream when there was the money for treats!’
    Edna was silent for some moments. ‘I know, Cathy. I remember when I bought her that ice cream she was so grateful. What I didn't know was the level of deprivation and also about the abuse that had been aimed at Donna. Warren called her the runt of the family. Now where on earth did a boy his age learn a term like that?’
    ‘I haven't a clue, but from what I'm picking up on here it sums up how they treated her — like the runt of the litter.’
    We were both quiet. I knew I shouldn't have exploded: it sounded as though I was blaming Edna, who, bless her, undoubtedly had done her best, but apparently she hadn'tbeen able to see through the united front presented by the rest of this dysfunctional travesty of a family.
    ‘I'm going to see Rita and Chelsea tomorrow,’ Edna said after a while. ‘They weren't in today when I called. I pushed a note through their letterbox saying I would call back tomorrow. How has Donna been this afternoon?’
    ‘She has been organising games for Adrian and Paula,’ I said. ‘And also the boy from next door, who came to play.’
    ‘Good. I'll see you later briefly when you bring Donna to contact.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, and, still subdued from what I'd heard, I replaced the receiver. I then checked in the lounge, where the three children were watching cartoons.
    I left them for another fifteen minutes, then told Donna to have a quick wash and change into some clean clothes, ready for contact. At 4.45 p.m. I bundled everyone into the car — with some protest from Adrian, whose programme I had interrupted — and drove to the social services office in Brampton Road. It wasn't the social services' main office but a large Victorian detached house that was used as overspill, and housed the Children and Families team. I pulled onto the driveway and left Adrian and Paula in the car while I took Donna into the small reception area that had once been the hall. I gave our names to the receptionist and she phoned through to Edna, who appeared almost immediately through the security-locked inner door.
    ‘Hello, Cathy, Donna,’ she said with her warm encouraging smile. ‘I hear you've had a lovely time in the garden today, Donna. And also that you went out for the day yesterday?’
    Donna nodded shyly.
    ‘Your mum and brothers are already here,’ she continued to Donna. ‘Dad won't be coming today, as he's not feeling so well.’ I thought I heard Donna give a little sigh and so too, it seemed, had Edna, for she threw me a pointed glance. ‘I shall be supervising contact as usual, Donna, so there is nothing for you to worry about.’ Then, looking at me, Edna said, ‘I'll see you at six thirty. Thank you for bringing Donna.’
    ‘You're welcome. See you later, Donna.’ I left the building and drove home, where Adrian managed to finish watching his programme before it was time to return for the end of contact.
    Donna didn't say much in the car coming home